


New Year, New Town

by EllenofX



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Gen, Holidays, Hometown Holidays, Other, Small Towns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-03
Packaged: 2018-09-14 10:09:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9176041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllenofX/pseuds/EllenofX
Summary: My fic for Stanuary. Poorly written and unedited, this is a loosely connected narrative of Stan's life during his "Mullet" days. Might end up being an AU where he and Ford meet before the portal incident? I'm not sure...---HomeMiddleville was a kind town to him, a nice little blip that won’t remember his name. For once, he actually managed to stay as long as he felt comfortable with without attracting too much attention. If the damn place had a few more bars and a lot more drunks, he might try to stay longer… But there were only two in town, and at this point his face was known at both of them. He probably could still hustle them, if he wanted, but some small part of Stan almost wondered if he might come back here again next Hometown-whatever.





	

Small towns, Stan decided, had their charms, even if he couldn’t stay in them too long. What the hell was this called, anyway? Hometown holidays? Something like that. 

Whatever it was, he had himself a little white foam cup of lukewarm apple cider to sip while walking down dark road out of Millville. It’d been hot when he got it, and the young boy behind the stand had smiled at him while handing it over. Even if it was a polite, strained smile mostly prompted by a glance from his mother. Still, Stan had returned it easily and sincerely - maybe the atmosphere of the evening was rubbing off on him, he thought, reflecting on the past few days.

Folks around here took the whole “holiday cheer” thing to a brand new level. At first, Stan hadn’t really known what to make of it, but after a quick realization of just how many handouts there were around these parts decided to hang around a while. Wasn’t like he had anywhere else to be, and if he was sticking around anyway, might as well apply for a few jobs if he could find any.

A week later, he was still an unemployed bum living out of his car, but it was the week before Christmas and exactly the sort of time and place to be asking for handouts. If he hung around the grocery store long enough, he knew he’d be able to get at least a few dollars for a meal. Once an old lady with pastel blue hair, gold cross around her neck, and a grumpy husband insisted on buying him some chicken from the deli. She’d called him ‘young man’ and told him repeatedly to ‘have a merry Christmas’, and he’d been homeless long enough not to tell her he was Jewish. 

Hardly that even, really.

When he was stretching his legs and looking for places to stay warm the night after, Stan had found that the teenagers at the Glen’s Pizza didn’t care how long he sat in a booth in the back after ordering. He spent the next couple days there, using the restroom to freshen up as much as he could and enjoying the background noise from the jukebox in the corner. When the owner had caught him, he’d been able to retreat to the local library, a building that seemed oddly small to Stan.

Normally going into a library for shelter made Stan feel a little pissed off and bitter, but this one just left him sad. He tried not the think about it too much, but without any distractions it was hard not to.  
When they were young, he and Ford could spend hours in the one back in New Jersey, or rather _Ford_ could. Stan _did_ because that’s where his brother was, but he never really cared for the place much himself. It was boring, and sometimes he’d lose track of Ford behind the bookshelves. This one was tiny, though, with two librarians who didn’t even look up when he entered and more tables then shelves. Middleville’s Library probably not enough books here to keep Ford busy for a month, and certainly not enough room for Stan to have lost him.

How had he lost him?

Christmas came rather abruptly, or more particular, Christmas Eve. Christmas itself for a day for family, but the people of Middleville set aside Christmas Eve for their neighbors. The whole town was dressed up in lights and half the streets shut down to make way for the apex Hometown Holidays.

A lot of it, Stan hadn’t bothered with. Santa’s Workshop, for instance, was in the elementary school across from the library, but he had no reason to go there. Down in the parking lot of Gravel Gurdy’s, though, there was a congregation of stands that he quickly realized were giving out free samples of food. That, paired with a couple teenagers being little assholes who deserved to be on Santa’s naughty list and didn’t keep good track of their wallets, and Stan ended the day with enough cash to get him through the next few days.

The whole evening had been nice, just wandering around town looking at lights and seeing what promotions the businesses were doing. Lots of food and a little light conversation. People didn’t like the look of him much usually, he knew, but he’d actually washed his clothes fairly recently and probably looked like any other punk with a mullet. That is, regular unsavory, not crazy-drug-dealer-drunk-homeless-murderer unsavory.

Some of the freebies made sense – a shot of fancy coffee from the café, pieces of soft pretzel outside the bars – others, not so much. The local beauty salon gave out hot chocolate and magnets, for instance, and for some reason, the credit union ran a Raffle. Stan entered it by submitting completely false information, winning the fourth place prize of a rather obnoxiously patterned red and greed throw blanket. Not exactly what he wanted, but paired with the rest of the night, if was the least broken he’d felt in ages. Fed, clean-ish, no colder than the rest of the morons rushing around outside the night before Christmas, and outfitted with a new blanket he didn’t even (directly) steal, it was almost like he was a new man.

Tonight was a smaller event than Christmas Eve, and all he’d really managed to get for free were a couple stale, leftover cookies and the hot cider, now stone cold. Even so, he’d been able to afford himself a sandwich at Gurdy’s and managed to sweet talk the waitress into giving him a cup of coffee for free.

“That all for you, Hon’?” The waitress had asked after he ordered their cheapest meal, looking at him expectantly.

“Yep, that’s all.”

“You sure?”

“Mmhm.” 

“Alrighty, then.” The waitress said, leaving and returning a few short minutes later with a sandwich on a plate and his check. 

“Ah, shoot!” Stan had muttered theatrically after the waitress has turned away but before she actually moved. He knew it was a fifty-fifty chance if this ploy would work or not, he mostly uses it to get free detergent from unappreciated mothers at the laundromat. When she turned back, he knew he’d gotten her.

“Is something the matter?” She asked, blinking heavily mascaraed eyes at him. In her thirties, she looked like a sweet lady, if exactly the sort of person you’d expect to see working in a diner in the middle of nowhere. Exactly the sort of person Stan as able work with.

“Oh, no, it’s nothing,” He said carefully, waving a hand as if to dismiss the idea and preparing his most winning smile, “I meant to order some coffee is all. Sorry, I just got a little flustered and forgot.”  
“I can pour you a cup right now,” She replied, “It’s no trouble.”

“Nah,” He said, forced casual, “You already printed out my charge, and it’s no big deal. I don’t want to bother you-”

He examined her a moment, trying to decide on the right prefix and taking the time to read her nametag before finishing, “-Miss Cindy.”

She blinked, blank faced, and for a moment Stan wondered if he’d made a mistake. Then Cindy smiled, wide and bright, and said, “Well, how about I put it on the house for ya’? It’s the dregs of the last pot, anyways, so I was just going to pitch it when I made a new one. No inconvenience at all, and besides, it’s still the holidays ‘round here.”

Stan smiled back at her then, almost feeling guilty that he wasn’t going to leave a tip, and said, “Oh, well thank you. That’s very kind.”

Cindy had chatted him up a little after that, whenever she wasn’t busy with another table, and Stan wasn’t sure how to feel about that. It was something you had to get used to if your meal ticket was charm, and Cindy wasn’t exactly unattractive… just a little too close to his mother’s age. That thought brought another bitter twinge to Stan’s mentality, and he swallowed the last of the stone cold cider and tossed the cup behind him, focusing instead on stuffing his hands in his pockets to warm up.

He was walking in near pitch-black now, barely able to see the glint of the hood in the moonlight. He kept his car parked a fair way out of town, this time tucked at a little park where he thinks no one will question it. In The Middle of Nowhere, USA, an abandoned car isn’t something to worry about until it’s been left a few days, and he’s made a point of moving the Stanley Mobile daily. Still, before too long people are going to notice it parked in odd places if they haven’t already, not that Stan’s too worried about that.

He’s sleeping in his car again tonight, but he didn’t expect to be sleeping anywhere else, anyway. Middleville doesn’t even have a hotel, let alone some rat hole in his price range. Honestly, Stan doesn’t mind. Sure, it’s winter, but a reasonably mild one so far. He’s even eaten today and collected another few-dollars-and-some-cents to stuff in his glovebox for worse times, even if this town is too small to pull any big scams. All in all, not such a bad night.

Middleville was a kind town to him, a nice little blip that won’t remember his name. For once, he actually managed to stay as long as he felt comfortable with without attracting too much attention. If the damn place had a few more bars and a lot more drunks, he might try to stay longer… But there were only two in town, and at this point his face was known at both of them. He probably could still hustle them, if he wanted, but some small part of Stan almost wondered if he might come back here again next Hometown-whatever.

Popping the door open, he more or less just lets himself fall into the seat, reclining backwards without a beat between slamming the door. Sighing, he closes his eyes for just a moment before there’s a loud pop in the distance. It startles him, takes him more than a minute to put two and two together. Christmas, holidays, nighttime, fireworks… New Year’s.

It’s just a little past midnight New Years Day and some of the people of Middleville are setting off fireworks in celebration. Probably nothing spectacular, but Stan shifts around to look out his rear window anyway, catching a distant glimpse of weak silver. He watches a bit, any view of the minor spectacle blocked between trees and the car. Eventually, Stan roles back over to get some rest, grabbing a couple stolen hoodies and that thin little throw to keep warm.

He’s leaving tomorrow, he’s decided. The realization that it’s the New Year might have something to do with it. It just has a nice ring to it: New Year, new town. He can get behind that.


End file.
